


Dangerous Love

by felineranger



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme fill - 'Serial Killer AU please'</p><p>Arnold Rimmer is a serial killer who's been preying on young men on Mimas for years.  When a young stray named Dave Lister crosses his path, things will never be the same.</p><p>Be warned - it's kinda disturbing (even by my standards).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily influenced by Poppy Z Brite's 'Exquisite Corpse'. One of the first books I ever read that truly shocked me.

            Rimmer pulled up at the Mimas Refuse and Recycling Centre and got out of his car. It was early evening now and the place would soon be closing, there was no-one else around. With a heavy heart, he opened up the trunk of his car and hauled out two ‘clean-burning’ black sacks, which he dropped into the chute of the incinerator. He always hated this part, the final farewell, but the young man had been dead for the best part of a week now and soon the flies, and the smell, would begin to attract unwanted attention. He had kept a few parts, as he always did, to remember him by. A small gesture of affection and respect, to atone for the ignominy of this final resting place. He climbed back in the car and drove home, but it was only when the gates closed behind him that he allowed himself to weep. When he went inside, the house would be empty and clean. Another playmate gone. And Rimmer would be all alone again.

 

            Lister stood on the roadside, not far from the Mimas shuttleport. One arm was stretched out to the road, thumb raised in hope of a lift into the city centre, the other was wrapped tightly across his chest, trying to hold together the front of his battered leather jacket in a vain attempt to keep out the cold night air. The zip had broken some time ago. He’d been standing there for a while and his fingers and toes were numb. If he could make it as far as town, he’d be okay. There’d be places to sleep, a shelter or hostel if he was lucky, or if not then at least somewhere out of the wind. He’d get by, he was used to it. If he didn’t freeze to death on this god-forsaken road. He didn’t know how long he waited, but eventually an old van rumbled to a stop beside him. “Thank you,” he said gratefully as he scrambled into the passenger seat.

“No problem,” the driver said gruffly, “Where should I drop you?”

“Anywhere in town. Whatever’s convenient.” Lister knew he was lucky to have a ride at all. Not many people stopped for male hitchhikers, even young ones, and Lister – though he looked younger than he really was – was old enough to be considered dangerous.

“You got somewhere to go?” the man asked, putting the van back in gear and pulling away, “It’s a cold night.”

“I’ll find a hotel,” Lister lied smoothly.

“Sure you will,” the man said, but didn’t press further. If Lister couldn’t afford the bus fare to town, he couldn’t afford a hotel. They drove in silence most of the way, Lister holding the small backpack with his meagre possessions tightly in his lap. He didn’t care too much where he ended up. The important thing was that he’d made it here. He’d got away and no-one could hurt him now.

            They were on the outskirts of Mimas Centre, trundling past bars and fast food joints, neon signs bright in the glowing darkness, and dark empty garages and lock ups with graffiti across their shutters. The van turned off the road and rolled to a stop outside a line of garages behind some scruffy shops. A dim green emergency exit sign over the back of one outlet was the only light. “It’s an hour’s walk from here to Central Plaza,” the driver told him. “I don’t imagine you’ve got enough stashed away in that little bag of yours to pay for a room uptown, and I don’t think my wife would be too pleased if I showed up with you in tow, so I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you sleep nice and safe and cosy in my little garage back here. You can even stay in the van, it’ll stay warm most of the night from the heating. Does that sound good?”

“What do I have to do?” Lister asked guardedly. The driver grinned like a wolf and Lister knew what he was going to say before he said it. “Climb into the back with me and show a little gratitude for the ride, that’s all. Nothing nasty. Nothing kinky. Small price to pay for a roof over your head.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then you’ve got a long walk in the cold with nowhere to go to, kid.”

            Lister bit his lip anxiously. It was late and it was dark and it was, as the man rightly said, cold. Here at least he’d be warm and, if the driver kept his word, relatively safe. But smegging hell, he didn’t want to do this. Not yet. He’d only just got here. This was meant to be a fresh start. He weighed up his options before quietly saying ‘Okay.”

“Good boy. I thought you looked like a smart one when I picked you up.”

            Doubt still pulsing in his stomach, Lister reluctantly scrambled over the seat into the back of the van. It stank of sweat and oil. There was a dirty sheet in one corner. The man followed him, with some difficulty, over the seats and spread the sheet over the hard floor. “Make yourself comfy.” Lister sat nervously. He shrugged off his jacket and slipped his t-shirt over his head. “Eager to get started, huh?” the driver said, amused, “Or just eager to get it over with?” Lister did not reply. The man sat down heavily beside him and reached over, caressing the back of his neck. “You seem nervous, kid. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m not going to hurt you.” He leaned down and kissed Lister’s bare shoulder, “You just do what I say and everything will be fine. You might even enjoy yourself.” Lister relaxed a little. Maybe he would.

            The driver took his hand and placed it on his cock. It was hard. Lister started to feel a stirring of excitement. Yeah. He could enjoy this. He leaned forward and kissed the man on the mouth, giving him just a taste of tongue. The man seemed surprised but pleased. “That’s the spirit,” he said approvingly, “But that’s not where I want your mouth.” Lister smiled sweetly,

“Show me where you want it.” The driver unbuttoned his fly and drew out his red, stubby erection. He was panting slightly. Lister pushed him back so he was lying down on the sheet and straddled him. He kissed him once more, then slid down his body and took the cock in his mouth. “Oh, yeah,” the man sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, “It was the right decision to stop for you, kid.” Lister twisted his tongue creatively and the man moaned. His own cock now pulsing insistently, Lister reached down and unzipped himself. He stroked his cock a few times, then reached down once more, further, and this time silently slid a long knife out of his boot. His fingers, no longer numb from the cold night outside, gripped it tightly. He raised his head and moved back up to kiss the driver. “Hey,” the guy said breathlessly, “I’m not finished.” Lister slid the blade deep into the side of the man’s neck. “Yeah,” he whispered, “You are.”

            He waited for a second, maybe two, savouring the wide-eyed shock on the man’s face as he realised that he was dead, then withdrew the knife; and as the blood gushed forth, so did his orgasm.

 

            Rimmer hovered listlessly in his workroom. It had been a double garage once upon a time. Now it was a large, whitewashed space with electricity and running water. And soundproofing. That was important.  An operating table stood in the middle, restraints at each corner.  Racks of shelves lined one long wall. Some of them contained items you’d expect to find in a garage. Like saws and pliers. Some of the items would have been more at home in a hospital. Some in a medieval dungeon. In one area, mason jars of various sizes crowded the shelves. Some of the contents were recognisable, others probably only recognisable to doctors. A lot of them contained human hearts.

            The room didn’t need cleaning. Rimmer always cleaned it meticulously after each guest. Even a forensics team would have been hard pushed to find any trace of blood in here. But yet Rimmer still lingered, cloth in hand. The main house felt too empty, too quiet. In here, he could almost still feel the presence of another, as if the vibrations from the man’s screams still trembled in the walls.

            Normally a kill would last him for several months, but Rimmer could tell that this time that wouldn’t be the case. He would need another playmate soon. Very soon. Rimmer was very lonely.

           

 

            Lister tried each key on the driver’s keyring until he found one that opened the garage door on the far right. He drove the van inside and then pulled the door shut behind him. The driver’s body was still in the back, wrapped in the sheet he’d been lying on when he died. Once he’d wrapped him up, Lister had washed his hands with a bottle of water he’d found in the front, then put his clean t-shirt and jacket back on. The man’s wallet was in the glove compartment. Lister took the fifty-five dollarpounds in cash inside and ignored the cards. He curled up across the front seats, where it was still warm and fell into a peaceful sleep. He was safe here for now.


	2. Chapter 2

            The following evening, Rimmer stood by the coffee shack outside the Mimas Central Bus Station, people watching. He was wrapped in a long black military-style jacket and held a hot drink in one hand. It was only six-thirty but already the sky was charcoal grey and the temperature was dropping rapidly. This was a good place to find playmates.

            Lost waifs stumbled off the buses in their dozens, with frightened eyes and empty pockets, looking for a friendly face in the callous crowds. Sometimes Rimmer took pity and helped them on their way, directing them to places they might actually find food and shelter. But sometimes, if he saw one that called to him, one that he thought he could love, he would keep them. Sometimes he’d tell them he was an artist or a photographer, looking for models for his next project. Sometimes he’d offer them a small job, weeding his garden or cleaning his gutters for cash in hand. Sometimes he just asked them straight out if they’d like to come home with him.

            Tonight something different happened. As he stood there, watching for the right person, the right moment, he suddenly became aware that someone was watching _him_.

           

Lister leaned against the billboard down the street, hugging himself against the chill night air. The man in the black jacket had been standing there a while now, too long to be doing anything but looking for a pick-up. His clothes looked expensive, his demeanour elegant and poised, and it made no sense for him to be here instead of one of the uptown bars unless he was looking for a cheap and easy lay.

            There were now only thirty-five dollarpounds in Lister’s pocket. Not enough for a room anywhere tonight, and he would still need to eat tomorrow. This man’s swanky pad, or hotel room (hell, even a nasty hotel room) would be better than a park bench. The guy would probably have a decent amount of cash on him and, wherever they ended up, maybe there would be a few things he could slip into his bag to sell later. That fancy watch for one. Lister fixed his eyes on the man, and made himself look as cute and helpless as he could manage. Which was very.

           

            Rimmer saw the man, hardly more than a boy really, leaning against a bright fast-food advertisement emblazoned with the word ‘FEAST’ and smiled to himself. Strangely fitting. He was clinging to a small backpack and glancing nervously at Rimmer from time to time. His eyes were dark and fearful, like a mouse, and Rimmer could almost read his thoughts as the boy debated over whether or not to approach this man, if he was really that desperate yet. Rimmer let his eyes linger over him. Cute. Very cute. Such a vulnerable expressive face that would suffer pain so beautifully. But as he started to walk towards him, and their eyes met, something about those eyes struck Rimmer that both startled and excited him. _He’s not really sweet and innocent at all_. _It’s an act._

“Hello there,” the tall man said kindly.

“Hi,” Lister said nervously.

“Are you lost?”

“A little. I just got here last night. Everything’s a bit new, y’know?”

“Where are you from?”

“Earth.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Nowhere yet. I’m not sure where to go.”

“What can you afford?”

“The Hilton maybe. If the doorway is free.”

“It’s a cold night to be out on the streets.”

“I manage.”

“I don’t like the thought of you shivering out here in the dark. Why don’t you come back to my place? Just for the night.”

“I don’t have any money to give you.”

“I wouldn’t take it if you did.”

“Then how will I repay you?” The dark eyes looked up at him suggestively.

“We’ll find a way,” the man said, his voice soft and patient.

            Lister regarded the man carefully. _If you want to fuck me just say so, Mr Fancy-Pants_ , he thought. _No need to be so shy. Or are you just too dignified to proposition me outright in the street?_ But as Lister looked up into the man’s eyes, something about that steady gaze sounded a low warning deep inside him. This man wasn’t really shy. Or kind. _It’s an act._

Lister smiled innocently. So this guy was a predator of some sort. That made this easier. Whatever he wanted to do to Lister was nothing compared to what Lister was going to do to him. “I don’t normally do this sort of thing,” he said bashfully.

“I’m glad to hear it. It can be dangerous going home with strangers.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Look into my eyes.”

Lister tried not to laugh. _Too late, pal._ “Okay,” he said playfully, “You look trustworthy. But tell me your name.”

“Arnold.”

“Hi Arnold. I’m Dave.”

“Hi Dave,” Rimmer held out a hand, “Follow me.”

 

            Rimmer’s house was a little way out of town, but walkable. They strolled along, hand-in-hand, stealing glances at each other. Lister wondered what would happen when they reached the house. Would Arnold’s gentlemanly façade drop right away or would he continue the game for a while? Would he try and get him drunk before doing whatever unpleasantness he had planned? And what exactly _did_ he have planned? Lister felt sure it was something more than just sex. He might not have minded that. The guy wasn’t bad looking and he had an intriguing aura about him that Lister couldn’t quite fathom. Something secretive and reserved.

Rimmer, in turn, surveyed Lister carefully as they proceeded. Now that they were walking along and he was no longer curled in on himself like a scared hedgehog, Rimmer thought he was probably older than he’d first guessed, maybe mid-twenties instead of late teens. Lister saw him looking and gave him a smile that was perfectly calculated to be both disarming and flirtatious. Rimmer smiled back. It was a convincing performance but it was too perfect, too polished. This kid wasn’t innocent, not by a country mile. Most likely he was planning to rifle through the house once Rimmer was sleeping and make off with whatever he could carry. He might not even wait until they’d been to bed together, although that didn’t bother Rimmer too much. He would fuck him one way or another; whether he was awake and willing, or drugged to the eyeballs and trussed up in Rimmer’s workroom. And that would only be the start.

The house was a modern detached white box with tinted windows and high iron gates at the front. The houses in this street were all large and set well apart from each other. In the decade that he’d lived there, Rimmer had never seen or heard a neighbour. It suited him. Lister stared at the building, wide-eyed. This was more than he’d expected. “Are you rich?” he asked bluntly.

“Yes,” Rimmer said dismissively. “I’m not a millionaire, but I am what people call ‘independently wealthy’.”

“Wow.”

“Come inside.”

            If the house looked impressive from the street, it was somewhat disappointing inside. Rimmer didn’t have an eye for décor and the furnishings were utilitarian and uninteresting. He drew Lister into the sitting room and turned the lights on low. “Can I offer you a drink?”

 _Here we go_ , Lister thought to himself. “What do you have?”

“Anything you want.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to get drunk,” Lister responded coyly.

“Not even a little?” Rimmer teased. Lister giggled and Rimmer, although he knew better than to fall for it, smiled indulgently. Cracking this sweet little nut was going to be such fun. “A whisky then,” Lister agreed, “On the rocks.” One drink wouldn’t hurt and the guy might get suspicious if he refused. “As you wish,” Rimmer said courteously. He left to get the drinks and Lister let out a slow breath. He put his bag down in a corner but didn’t take a seat just yet. He bent down and retrieved the knife from his boot and re-hid it under his waistband at the small of his back, covering the handle with his shirt.

 

            In the kitchen, Rimmer poured out two drinks into heavy crystal tumblers and added ice. He left the drinks on the counter for a moment to allow the ice to do its work, and went to the refrigerator. He pulled open a drawer inside and retrieved a small vial of clear liquid. With quick, well-practised movements, he used the vial to fill a small syringe. With someone else he might have added a little something extra to the whisky, but if this one was as worldly as Rimmer suspected he was, he might well detect a strange taste in his drink. And, if he was also as tricksy as Rimmer suspected, it might be a good idea to have a little something to hand which would knock him out cold when the moment was right.


	3. Chapter 3

            Once he’d had a few moments to look around the room, Lister noticed the artwork lining the walls. Sketches mostly, some paintings, all of them of naked young men. The faces were all different, and they were in different poses, but interestingly, all appeared to be sleeping. Lister raised an eyebrow. Maybe this guy wanted to draw him. That might be fun.

            “Here,” Rimmer returned with the drinks and handed one to Lister, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Lister took a cautious sip. It tasted clean, he didn’t think it had been spiked. He relaxed a little. “Did you draw these?” he asked, gesturing to the pictures.

“Yes. Do you like them?”

“They’re very good. But why are they all asleep?” Lister thought Rimmer looked surprised, there was a moment of hesitation before he answered. “I suppose...because I find people most interesting when they’re at their most vulnerable.”

“Are you going to draw me?”

            Rimmer smile was strange. “Yes,” he said, “I imagine so.”

“Do you bring a lot of men home?”

“A fair few. If they appeal to me.”

“Do I appeal to you?”

“Very much.” And Rimmer was surprised at how true that was. He’d been instantly attracted to Dave, even once he’d clocked that he wasn’t quite what he seemed. In fact, if anything, that knowledge had made him more desirable. There was a raw toughness under that charmingly endearing exterior that excited him. Rimmer thought Dave might last a long time in the workroom. Maybe weeks, if Rimmer himself had the self-discipline to draw things out that long.

            His excitement must have shown in his face because Dave’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “What are you thinking about?”

“What I want to do to you,” Rimmer replied honestly.

“What _do_ you want to do?”

“I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”

Lister finished his drink and stepped forward. Yeah, there was something fascinating about this man. Maybe it was foolhardy, maybe even dangerous, but Lister was starting to get turned on. Something about the naked figures on the walls had stirred his arousal and he was ready to know what was going to happen next. He reached up and stroked Arnold’s cheek, his eyes burning. “Surprise me,” he whispered. Rimmer put an arm around his waist, drew him in close and kissed him. And it was a _good_ kiss. There was heat here, _real_ heat, the kind Lister hadn’t felt in a very long time. He wondered what he was letting himself in for.

The kiss shocked Rimmer slightly. He hadn’t planned for it, and normally he planned these things meticulously, but he hadn’t expected Dave to step up like that. With his body so close, those lips just _there_ and ready for him, Rimmer had reacted instinctively and now here they were, mouths and hips pressed tight together, tongues duelling playfully and erections nuzzling deliciously through their clothes. It was too good, too much. He hadn’t expected this to happen so quickly, but now it was happening, Rimmer knew it was too late to stop. It was time to take this to the next level. He squeezed Dave tighter against him, deepened their kiss and, with his free hand, pulled out the syringe.

He was just about to plunge it into Dave’s back when he felt something sharp – very sharp – against the side of his neck. Dave’s lips released his and his eyes opened languorously. “Well,” he whispered, “What now?”

 

It took Rimmer a second to really believe this was happening. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Dave was supposed to be a sagging weight in his arms right now, ready to be stripped, strapped down, and subjected to every dark desire of Rimmer’s deepest psyche. Not holding a knife to his throat. Rimmer supposed he should be angry, but he wasn’t. He was enthralled.

“What’s in the needle?” Lister asked.

Rimmer smiled tenderly. “Just a tranquiliser. It will knock you out very quickly. Within seconds.”

“Not quickly enough to stop me pushing this blade right through your jugular.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“The trank might put me under for a while. My switch will put you under for good. Six feet under, to be precise. Drop it.”

“I will if you will.”

“You think this is a game?”

“Of course it is,” Rimmer said, “We’ve been playing it since we first laid eyes on each other. And it’s fun, isn’t it?”

Lister smiled despite himself. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

“So, let’s not bring it to a premature close. You drop it, I drop it, agreed?”

“Count of three?”

“Okay.”

“What if I cheat?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because then you’ll never know the surprise.”

            Three seconds later, a syringe and a knife fell silently to the carpet. Lister took two cautious steps back, putting some distance between them. “So what’s the deal?” he asked warily, “Are you a trafficker? Was I supposed to get a skinful of sedative and wake-up on a slave ship heading to the outer reaches of the galaxy?”

“No.”

“So what are you?”

“Same thing as you.”

“I don’t mess with anyone who doesn’t mess with me.”

“You picked me out on the street today.”

“You came up to me, as I remember.”

“You’d already seen me. You lured me in.”

“Because you were _looking_ for someone to mess with. I could see it.”

“And what were _you_ looking for?”

A hint of a guilty smile turned up the corner of Lister’s lovely lips. “Someone who wanted to mess with me,” he admitted.

            Rimmer glanced down at the knife on the carpet. The blade gleamed prettily. Invitingly. “You want to know what I am?” Rimmer asked, “Come with me. I’ll _show_ you what I am.”

            They walked through the house to the door of the workroom. Rimmer held tightly onto Lister’s hand. Dave was a killer, he had no doubt of that. But was he ready for something like this?

When the lights came on, harsh and bright, Lister shielded his eyes for a moment. Rimmer watched his face carefully as he looked around. After a moment, he let go of Rimmer’s hand and went to inspect the mason jars. He looked at a few of them quizzically. Opened one. Sniffed it. Put it back. Rimmer continued to watch him, waiting for a sign. The quick breath before a scream. The widening of eyes before panic. The hitch of stomach muscles before vomit. He was well acquainted with all those signs. If Dave displayed any of them, Rimmer would move quickly. The knife was gone now, he was the bigger of the two of them and, crucially, _he_ was not frightened. He could subdue Dave in here, easily, and the world would be back as it should be. And he would have a new playmate for a while. Which would be lovely, but also...a little disappointing.

            Dave did not show any of the signs Rimmer was waiting for. He seemed to be thinking. “The guys in your drawings,” he said calmly, “They’re not sleeping. Are they?”

“No,” Rimmer confirmed with a slow smile. When Lister looked up, his expression was curious. “How do you do it?” he asked.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

            Rimmer poured some more whisky into the glasses and watched as Dave took a sip. They were back in the sitting room now, side by side on the couch. “It all depends on my mood,” he said, “I try to keep them as long as possible but sometimes I get carried away and it ends too soon.”

“Why do you keep them?” Lister asked intrigued, “Why not just kill them straight away?”

“I like the company,” Rimmer said honestly. Lister grinned warmly.

“That’s sweet.”

“And of course I like to...experiment.”

“Don’t you have a job?”

“Not really. I sell paintings sometimes. Local scenes. Tourist stuff.”

“Then how do you afford this place?”

“I divorced my parents when I was still a teenager. I sued them for physical and emotional abuse and neglect. I was emancipated and awarded a substantial sum of money. They also had to pay me maintenance until I was eighteen. It all added up.”

Lister gave a low whistle. “You lucky sod.”

            “What about you?” Rimmer asked.

“What about me?”

“Don’t you have a home to go to?”

“I was abandoned as a baby. Grew up in an orphanage, never got adopted. I think people could tell there was something strange about me, even then. But I never hurt anyone. Not at first.”

“Why did you start?”

Lister’s dark eyes grew darker at the question. “There were carers in the orphanage who used to do things to me. Awful things. They’d make stuff up so the people who came around wouldn’t want me, so that they could keep doing those things.”

“That’s terrible,” Rimmer said, appalled. Lister swirled his drink moodily.

“When I was fourteen I realised it was never going to stop unless someone stopped them. When they came into my room one night, I was ready. I had a knife hidden away. They were both dead before they knew what was happening. You don’t know what it was like...” Lister stared into the distance, “...The relief.”

Rimmer thought of how it had felt when he’d finally got away from his parents. “Maybe I do,” he said thoughtfully.

“It didn’t last long though. I ran away but they found me. They put me in an institution.”

            Lister laughed bitterly, “It was more or less the same as being in the orphanage, only with better locks on the doors. Nothing changed. When I turned eighteen they moved me to an adult prison and it was the same again. It’s like, the faces change, but the people inside them don’t. There’s always someone trying to hurt you. Always someone who wants to mess with you. Always.” Lister looked sad for a moment before he shook himself out of it. “Anyway,” he said, “I took care of it. I took care of myself. And this time when I ran away they didn’t catch me.”

“I’m glad.” Rimmer told him softly. Lister smiled.

            “Who was your first?” he asked, “How did you discover all this?”

Rimmer stared down sadly into his glass. “I was seeing someone,” he said, “For two years. We lived together here. It was the happiest I’d ever been. It still is.” It felt strange saying all this to someone else. He’d never told the story to anyone before. “One day he told me that he was leaving. He said he didn’t love me anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Lister reached over and touched his hand.

“It’s okay,” Rimmer squeezed the hand. “He never left in the end. Not really.”

They shared a smile. “But I found I couldn’t be here on my own after that,” Rimmer confessed. “I need company. I need someone to play with.”

            Lister took his hand and brought it up to his face, nuzzled and kissed it gently. Rimmer stared at him, his heart beating fast. “Do you want to play with me?” Lister asked. Rimmer hesitated. He did.

            But if he played with Dave the way he wanted to, the way he normally did, then eventually Dave wouldn’t be here anymore. And he’d never met anyone like him before. He probably never would again. It seemed wasteful. “Do you want me to play with you?” he asked, almost hopefully.

“Not in the way you’re thinking of. But I think we could play together. I think we could play together very nicely.”

            Rimmer fought with himself. He wondered if he could fuck Dave without wanting to kill him after. Hell, he still wasn’t 100% sure he didn’t want to kill him anyway. Dave was gorgeous and the thought of slicing into that soft skin and opening up that lithe body was deeply alluring. His internal organs would be as plump and juicy as ripe fruit, Rimmer thought, his blood like the finest wine. He was getting worryingly turned on and Lister could see it. He smiled knowingly. “Are you thinking about screwing me or something else?”

“I’m thinking,” Rimmer swallowed hard, “about all kinds of things.”

“You know, if you try to hurt me I can still kill you.”

“I know,” Rimmer didn’t have any illusions about that. Dave wouldn’t hesitate to cut his throat if he felt threatened.

“But,” Lister leaned over, his eyes alight and playful, “I’ve gotta say...I think that would be a real shame.” He kissed him again, and Rimmer finally made up his mind. There was a good chance that one of them, or even both of them, would not live through the night. But with something this rare, this hot and maddening and dangerous, it would be one hell of a waste if they didn’t fuck first.

 

            The sex was like nothing else Rimmer had ever experienced before. Usually the guys he brought home were a little timid and eager to please. Dave was not. He was fiery, demanding, and energetic. The two of them rolled naked on the white cotton stage of Rimmer’s bed, power shifting between them, back and forth, every minute as they wrestled, fumbled and fucked. One moment Rimmer on top, the next Lister gaining the upper hand. This was a new experience for Rimmer. Normally when he fucked his guests he was always the one conducting things, always in control. But trying to fuck Dave Lister was like trying to ride a wild pony. Just when you thought you had him under control he’d buck and twist and suddenly you were flat on your back. And it turned out his temperament wasn’t the only thing comparable to a horse either.

            When they at last collapsed, spent and exhausted, side by side, Rimmer wasn’t sure how to feel. He was a little rocked, shell-shocked even, but he’d never been so satisfied. His lips were pink and swollen, there were bite marks on his shoulders and they were both a mass of bruises. “Smeg,” Dave panted beside him, “That was incredible.”

“Yes,” Rimmer agreed, dazed.

“I’m going to sleep for a million years.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Rimmer asked with a wicked smile. “How do you know you won’t wake up in my workshop downstairs? How do you know you’ll wake up at all?” Lister smiled back impishly.

“I don’t,” he said breathlessly, his eyes shining, “And neither do you.”


	5. Chapter 5

                Rimmer did wake up the next morning. At first he thought Dave was gone, the bed beside him was empty. He found him downstairs in the kitchen, eating cereal in his underpants. “Morning,” he smiled cheerfully.

“Morning,” Rimmer smiled back. He found he was glad Dave hadn’t left.

“Have you ever eaten someone?” Lister asked curiously, “Is that why you keep all the bits in the jars out back?”

“That’s one hell of a question to throw at someone before they’ve even had coffee,” Rimmer protested, amused.

“Well?”

“I’ve tried it,” Rimmer put the kettle on, “But that’s not why I keep them.”

“What was it like?”

“Only ok.”

“So the jars are just trophies?”

“Memories,” Rimmer corrected him. Lister appeared to think this over. “So _you’ve_ never taken a bite out of anyone?” Rimmer teased, “You almost took a chunk out of my shoulder last night.”

“No,” Lister said thoughtfully, “Sometimes I lick the blood off my hands though. If it’s fresh.”

                They eyed each other across the room. “What happens now?” Rimmer asked.

Lister shrugged, “It’s your house, man. You decide.”

“Would you like to stay here for a while?”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be,” Lister replied nonchalantly.

“But would you _like_ to stay here?”

Lister relented and smiled, “Yeah. I would.”

               

After breakfast, they went back to bed. Lister ended up staying for a long time.

 

They had a very different approach to what they did, Rimmer discovered over time. He tried to teach Lister something about the poetry of anatomy, the secrets of pain held within the fragile frame of the human body, the sweetness of agony, but to no real avail. Lister had no patience for torture. He’d join in for a while when Rimmer brought playmates home, but lost interest fairly quickly. He found his thrills in bringing sudden death, he liked the immediacy of the knife, the instant gratification of someone’s life pouring over his hands in a hot fountain of crimson blood. Most of the time he just let Rimmer get on with it but, occasionally, if he happened to spend too long playing with one of their guests, more than a few days, Lister would sometimes get jealous. If Rimmer was feeling generous, he would call his lover in to finish off what was left of their prey. If he wasn’t (or if he didn’t notice Lister sulking), he might come downstairs in the morning to find Lister sipping tea with an innocent expression; and find his latest toy had had their throat cut in the night.

They had different ways of dealing with dry spells too. When Lister needed a kill, he’d get tense and snappy. He’d smoke too much and prowl around the house restlessly. Eventually, after a few day of this, he’d disappear for a few hours. He’d come back late at night, with blood-spattered clothes and a serene smile, docile as a kitten.

Rimmer tended to release his frustrations in a different way. After they’d been together for a few months, Lister had woken up one morning to find he’d been handcuffed, the chain linking his wrists together wound through the bars of the headrest. There was a ball gag strapped tightly in his mouth. Rimmer was sitting by the bed, watching him intently. Lister had returned his stare, but hadn’t struggled. After a moment, Rimmer had stood up, flipped Lister over onto his front and straddled the backs of his thighs, pinning him to the mattress. He’d parted Lister’s buttocks and fingered his hole lightly. Lister didn’t move, or make a sound. Rimmer rolled him back so he was face-up and gazed at him for a moment, as if debating something, then got up off the bed and left the room. He didn’t come back for over an hour.

                When he finally returned he was carrying a knife. Lister saw it, but didn’t react. Rimmer sat down beside him on the bed. He touched the blade to Lister’s skin. Lister looked back at him calmly. He did nothing more than wince slightly when Rimmer cut him. Rimmer stared at the small slice he’d made, at the fat drop of blood that welled up. Lister held his breath. Rimmer cut him again, and again, and again, nothing too deep or painful but a pattern of tiny wounds across his body. Eventually he tossed the knife aside, flipped Lister over and fucked him, hard. When it was over, he cradled him tenderly in his arms for a long time. When he sat up, Lister’s blood was smeared over his chest. He unlocked the handcuffs and took off the gag. “Are you going to leave me?” he asked fearfully. Lister put his arms around him and pulled him back down onto the bed, stroking his hair. “No,” he said, then added as an afterthought, “But let’s go out and find you a playmate tonight.”

                This sort of thing happened maybe two or three times a year. Lister didn’t mind too much. Rimmer never really hurt him.

 

                They never got caught. As far as Rimmer could tell, they’d never even come close. They were careful about who they chose for their games and (Rimmer at least) meticulous about cleaning up. In the five years that they lived together in the house, not a single police officer ever darkened their door. Rimmer never had a chance to wonder if it would have lasted forever. Because one day, quite unexpectedly, he lost his favourite playmate.

                

                One dark night, as Rimmer sat alone at the kitchen table, the doorbell rang. Rimmer froze. Dave had been out hunting for a few hours, but he had a key and he’d never forgotten it. The doorbell never rang in this house, and certainly not at this hour. It pealed again, someone now holding the button down. Rimmer stood up, eyes narrowed, and slid a kitchen knife from the block before going to investigate.

                He peered through the spyhole but he saw nothing. He almost walked away, suspecting some local kids had maybe scaled the gate and rung the bell for a joke. Then he heard the moan. When he opened the door, Lister was slumped in the porch. There was blood running down his face. Rimmer carried him inside and lay him down on the couch. “What happened?” he demanded frantically, trying to inspect the damage. Dave’s response was slurred and unspecific, “Stars,” he drawled, “Stars swirling...” Rimmer’s fingers traced the blood back to a gash on the side of Dave’s head. He couldn’t tell if it was from blunt trauma or a slash, the wound was too messy. What should he do? Lister was obviously seriously injured but the idea of calling out the authorities to this house was clearly out of the question. Even if he drove him to the nearest hospital there would be questions. Questions he couldn’t answer. Maybe Dave had finally met his match while out hunting. Maybe he’d been hit by a car on his way home. Maybe the blood drenching his shirt was all his, maybe it wasn’t. Either way the police would get involved. But he had to do something.

                But actually he didn’t. As Rimmer knelt by Lister’s side, frantically debating what to do, he suddenly started coughing. Blood misted his lips and trickled thickly out of his nose. And then he was still. Utterly still.

                Rimmer spent the rest of the night sitting beside him, numb. Part of him was waiting, hoping, for Dave to take a breath; to stir and wipe the blood from his face. Rimmer knew death intimately but it was something that happened to other people, something that the two of them _did_ to other people. It was not supposed to happen to them. Not like this.

                As the grey light of dawn began to seep into the room, Rimmer painfully accepted that Lister was not going to move. His lover was gone. Weeping silently, he lifted him and carried him into the garage, where he lay him down on the cold metal table inside. He cut away his bloodstained clothes and with tears still trickling down his face, selected a few choice tools from the rack. If there was only one thing to be taken from this tragedy, it was that now, at last, he could play with Dave the way he’d always fantasised about. He wasn’t going to waste that opportunity.

 

                A few days later, when the time came – as it always did – to say goodbye for good, Rimmer found himself weeping once again. This wasn’t like it had been with the others. He couldn’t just choose which parts of Dave he wanted to keep and dispose of the rest like he was trash. He wanted to keep him, all of him, forever. He couldn’t imagine going back to living in this cold empty house alone. The thought of bringing other playmates home felt wrong now. Unfaithful. Without his partner, nothing the years ahead could offer held any joy.

 

                He dug a hole in the large garden beneath an old tree, throwing the dirt he excavated into a wide tarpaulin. When the pit was deep enough, he rigged the tarpaulin above the hole, with a rope across the sturdy branch of the tree. He climbed down inside, gently tugged Lister’s cool pliant body off the ledge and into his arms, and then took hold of one end of the rope and lay down. He rested his head back on the damp earth and settled Lister on top of him, arranging his limbs so they held each other in a loose embrace. Dave’s head flopped neatly onto his shoulder and Rimmer smiled. Perfect. He kissed his lover one last time and then tugged on the rope. The earth cascaded down around them like rain, light at first, then all at once. Rimmer closed his eyes as the weight of it thudded down on him, shutting off the cruel world above. It pinned him down, crushed Dave’s still form close against him, quickly obliterating first light and then sound and then air until there was nothing. Nothing but the two of them, together here forever. Rimmer relaxed peacefully into the suffocating darkness.

 

He would never be alone again.

               

               


End file.
